


Just for Once in Your Life, Aramis, Don't Smash

by IsVampirismGay



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsVampirismGay/pseuds/IsVampirismGay
Summary: When he woke up at some ungodly hour of the morning and heard strange grunting, he didn’t expect that a thing that might happen was his friend and comrade-in-arms Aramis having sex with Her Majesty, Queen Anne of Austria.Having spent years in Aramis’  company, he was well acquainted with his friend’s urge to have sex with all the worst possible people one could decide to have sex with, but Her Majesty, Queen Anne of Austria quite literally takes the crown.And he thought that having an affair with cardinal’s mistress was the worst it could get.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/d'Artagnan/Athos | Comte de la Fère/Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 25
Kudos: 29





	1. Aramis, You Ignorant Slut

**Author's Note:**

> I found this fic on my hard drive and it accidentally catapulted my brain into another Musketeers hyperfixation. Just to clear things up, the characters are based on the series, but I inserted some details from the book. In any case, not having read the book shouldn't be a problem and there aren't any spoilers about the events from the book. Regarding those, Grimaud in this fic has nothing to do with Grimaud from the season 3.
> 
> To my Lost Boys readers, I swear I'm not abandoning my glam metal vampires, but for now I Need to write this
> 
> Also I'll be updating every two or three days since it's half-written already and the chapters aren't that long. Enjoy!

“I swear to God, Aramis-”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t??”

Athos facepalmed.

“For once, just _once_ in your life, Aramis, you didn’t have to-”

“But the circumstances!”

Athos loudly groaned.

* * *

Him and Aramis were standing in an empty room of the nuns’ convent. While the night passed by without any interruptions outside, Athos still slept lightly in case anything happened.

When he woke up at some ungodly hour of the morning and heard strange grunting, he didn’t expect that a _thing_ that _might_ happen was his friend and comrade-in-arms Aramis having sex with _Her Majesty, Queen Anne of Austria._

Having spent years in Aramis’ company, he was well acquainted with his friend’s urge to have sex with all the worst possible people one could decide to have sex with, but _Her Majesty, Queen Anne of Austria_ quite literally takes the crown.

And he thought that having an affair with cardinal’s mistress was the worst it could get.

* * *

“Look,” Athos finally said, “We can’t talk about this here and now, but we’re having a long discussion about this the moment we’re done with the business, alright?”

Aramis nodded enthusiastically, glad to be at least temporarily left off hook.

“Make sure to cover up before you go out, though,” Athos said as he was leaving the room. Aramis looked down on his body and saw a trail of hickeys leading to his lower abdomen.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered and scrambled to find his clothes.

* * *

The moment they were done with the mission Athos ordered his friends to come to his place. “Especially you, Aramis,” he said, giving him one of his icy stares from under the feathered hat.

Porthos and d’Artagnan looked at both of them curiously. Athos lived in a simple little apartment with unintrusive neighbors and a quiet but loyal servant. It was the best place for them to gather when in need of secrecy. Or booze. Aramis was pretty sure that for that particular conversation he would need both.

They all had to go to their own places first and Aramis found himself kneeling on the floor in front of the crucifix, praying to God to forgive him for his lust and also to protect him from Athos. They were friends, but sometimes Athos still terrified him.

When he finally showed up at Athos’ place, the rest of them were already there and waiting. He was greeted by Athos’ servant, Grimaud who led him to his master's kitchen, as quiet and sour-faced as he's always been. After all these years, Aramis still didn’t know if Grimaud was actually mute or just never spoke. Both him and his master seemed to communicate through gestures, head tilts and grunts and miraculously enough, they actually understood each other.

“You’re late.”

Aramis cringed, feeling like a small child getting scolded. The rest of the company was gathered around Athos’ small table.

“Come on, take a seat and tell us what’s the deal,” said D’Artagnan, gesturing at the empty chair.

Aramis slowly walked over and sit down. In the meantime, Athos waved to Grimaud who locked the door, closed all the windows and left the room.

They found themselves sitting in twilight, illuminated only why the stray rays of sunlight that escaped through old wood.

“Okay,” started Aramis. “I've had sex with the queen.”

* * *

“You did _what!?”_

Porthos just laughed out loud – a booming, infectious sound – and started clapping.

“That’s a good one!” he shouted, trying to catch his breath. “A good one!” he wheezed as d’Artagnan started snickering too.

They laughed together for a few moments until Porthos caught the look on Athos’ face.

“Wait, that’s for real?”

Athos and Aramis nodded slowly.

“Ha!”

Porthos downright screeched with laughter, while d’Artagnan just looked between Athos and Aramis, his eyebrows slowly climbing higher and higher up his forehead and his face more and more distorted as he tried to hold it in – whether _it_ was laughter, crying, just plain screaming or a mixture of all three he did not know.

Aramis and Athos just waited in silence for Porthos to calm down. Grimaud returned to the room, this time carrying a bottle of something that definitely wasn’t plain old wine. Athos took it and uncapped it, drinking a few generous mouthfuls before setting it on the table. He still looked constipated.

Aramis considered taking a shot from the bottle as well, but Athos’ glare was cold enough to stop him before he even moved his hand.

* * *

“You have to tell me one thing though – who was on top?”

Porthos ducked before Athos or Aramis could smack his head. All four of them have taken several shots from the bottle by now. The drink must have been one of those ‘secret recipe’ beverages that people brewed for the sole purpose of getting wasted as quickly as possible. The smell emitting from the bottle was so harsh, Aramis felt like the alcohol was burning the mere hairs in his nose just by breathing the same air as the open bottle was in.

"Porthos, what kind of question is that?" asked d'Artagnan. "Monsieur 'I like violence in a woman' couldn't be on top unless she-"

"Enough!" interrupted Athos. "Please don't make me think about how exactly it happened." He sighed. “To conclude, Treville can’t find out and no one here is allowed to have sex with the queen. Ever again.”

He slammed the bottle on the table and the debate was done. All that was left to do now was to get so blackout drunk that everyone forgot why they had to meet up at Athos’ in the first place.

* * *

If things went how they were supposed to go, the affair would have been left as a distant, embarrassing, though still quite pleasant memory. Unfortunately, it seemed like God was hellbent on punishing Aramis.

* * *

Last few days were amongst most stressful in Aramis’ life. Between all the deception, subterfuge, flying bullets and slashing rapiers all four of them were tired and ready for a good week of time off. They weren’t allowed to rest just yet though, having received a message from commander Treville. It summoned them to the royal palace, instructing them to wear their best.

It turned to be a small but seemingly important gathering, only for the most essential individuals and all four of them were extremely honored to be asked to stand guard there.

“Where is Richelieu? I need him to be here too!” exclaimed the king, getting visibly impatient. Strangely enough, he wasn’t getting irritated, he seemed more like a small kid waiting for an adult to come and look at what masterpiece he's created.

The chamberlain didn’t have to answer as the cardinal burst into the room, clearly out of breath.

“Oh! Finally you’re here, Richelieu,” said the king with a smile.

“I have wonderful news for everyone,” he continued to the whole room. “My wife and I are finally expecting a child!”

There was a beat of bewildered silence, both the cardinal and many others confused at how it’s possible when the queen was supposed to be barren – but then the king, too lost in his own happiness began clapping and the rest of the room joined in.

* * *

Luckily everyone was too preoccupied with the interaction between the king and the cardinal to notice the glances exchanged between the musketeers or how one of them started sweating profusely.

Athos was sternly side-eyeing him and he tried his best to keep a straight face, which wasn’t made any less difficult by Porthos and d’Artagnan who were shooting him amused glances.

A bead of sweat slid into his collar.

* * *

The cardinal knew. Aramis was sure of it. Even if he didn’t already know, he would find out soon enough. Cardinal always knew things.

They headed straight to the Athos’ place again.

* * *

Aramis was already taking a seat, when Porthos stopped him. He extended his arm, gripping Aramis’ and started shaking it.

“Congratulations to the father!” he boomed, “May your child be healthy and strong and smarter than daddy!”

“That’s enough, Porthos,” said Athos, already opening another bottle of some foul beverage.

“I think the cardinal knows,” confessed Aramis.

“D’Artagnan thumped his head against the table.

“Of course he does,” he groaned.

“And we-” Athos raised a commanding finger “-have to stop him from using it as blackmail.”

Porthos scratched his head.

“The one bit of information we could have held against him was just used up this week,” he said. “Do we have anything else on him?”

All four of them sat in silence, staring at the table.

Athos passed the bottle to Aramis, who took a long drag and gave it to D’Artagnan. He drank one shot and gave it to Porthos who took a big mouthful. The bottle was passed back to Athos.

* * *

After a few circles Aramis spoke up.

“What about that thing with his previous mistress?”

“The one you seduced and then disappeared?”

“Yeah.”

“No one cares about her.”

The circle sunk in silence again.

* * *

“Hold up!” shouted d’Artagnan. He was swaying slightly.

“How about we convince Richelieu that Aramis _isn’t_ the father?”

Athos looked up from where he was brooding at the table. “How?” he asked.

“Yeah, there’s no chance the king was actually the one who impregnated her,” added Porthos.

D’Artagnan’s smile grew.

“We tell him that Aramis is a total sodomite!”

* * *

Athos looked at d’Artagnan approvingly.

“This could actually work.”

“Hey,” squeaked Aramis. “Are we ignoring the fact that this might land me in prison?”

Porthos laughed and shook his head. “No one cares about that here,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s not like Treville isn’t one too anyway,” added d’Artagnan.

Porthos snapped his head in his direction. “How on Earth do you know that?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “My dad told me about how he was like back when they served together in the army. Pretty sure he's had something with both him and Richelieu,” he said nonchalantly.

"What the _fuck_?!"

Aramis looked like he was going to be sick. "That's absolutely horrible," he said

"Since when did Treville have such abhorrent taste in men?" loudly pondered Porthos. "Not talking about your dad, I'm sure he was a fine man," he hastily added, looking at d'Artagnan guiltily.

D'Artagnan shrugged back at him.

Athos knocked on the bottle a few times to get everyone’s attention.

“The king doesn’t care about sodomy between his soldiers,” he said. “All that matters to him is that his wife is loyal to him as a lover.”

“Yeah, if you end up in prison for something like that, somebody’s going to get you out, whether it’s the queen, king or Treville, it doesn’t matter,” added Porthos.

The table grew quiet for a few moments, mulling over the information.

“Okay, we tell Richelieu that I’m a sodomite,” finally relented Aramis.

Porthos whooped and swept up d’Artagnan into a hug. “I knew you were a bright lad!” he shouted before smacking a loud kiss on his forehead and putting him back down. Athos slowly walked up to d’Artagnan and clamped one hand on his shoulder.

“You’re so, so, _so_ smart,” he said with a drunken smile and patted his head.


	2. *to the tune of YMCA* WE ARE SO GAY (please Your Eminence, believe me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and here, gaydies and gentlethems, is a demonstration of the meaning of phrase "snowball out of controll"

As expected, it didn’t take long for them to get tangled in another one of cardinal’s foul intrigues. The musketeers were summoned to stand guard as the king was socialising with another foreign noble visiting.

Richelieu had excused himself from the company and walked to the pavilion where Aramis was all alone standing guard.

“I know about you and the queen,” said Richeleu.

Aramis didn’t turn around from his vantage point.

“What about me and the queen?” he asked.

Richelieu huffed impatiently.

“About you and her- about you two doing the do!”

Aramis snorted, shaking his head. “There was no _doing the do_ with us two,” he said, amusement in his voice.

“Then how-” huffed the cardinal, “ _how_ did the queen manage to conceive suddenly after all these years? She spends one night alone with you rascals and then suddenly, one month later she’s announcing a child!”

“Maybe His and Her Majesty were having a very emotional reunion,” replied Aramis. “After all, she _did_ almost get killed by a certain someone.”

“Don’t try to guilt trip me, I have no conscience.”

“I know, Your Eminence.”

“Stop trying to be smart, I know you had sex with the queen.”

“Did not.”

“Did!”

“But Your Eminence, how could I do it if I’m a total sodomite?”

The cardinal stopped in his tracks. “You’re a _what?_ ”

* * *

“But what about Adele? She did confess her undying love for you before she died.”

“Wait, you killed her? You bastard!”

“So you admit you’re lying?”

“No, I just seduced her to spite you.”

“ _Bastard._ ”

* * *

“But- but you have the reputation as the ladies man! You’re known for having affairs with all sorts of women!”

“And you’re known as the king’s most loyal servant but we both know that’s a load of bullshit too.”

“Now there’s _no need_ to go there-”

* * *

“Wait, so it’s actually Athos who-”

“No!”

Aramis started sweating nervously. He did finally succeed in convincing the cardinal that his romantic pursuits were only for show but now Richelieu thought that it was his friend who impregnated the queen.

“Well, Your Eminence, you see...”

“Yes?”

“Uhh my friend… Well...”

Aramis prided himself on always being smooth but in that particular moment he was failing miserably.

“He’s a sodomite too!”

Richelieu reeled back.

“Him too?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Aramis desperately. “All of us! We’re all sodomites! No interest in women whatsoever!”

“Really?” Richelieu scratched his chin.

“Yes!” repeated Aramis, who was spitballing ideas by now, but was in too deep to stop. “We’re all big sodomites, why else do you think we stick together like that?”

“Okay...” Richelieu tried to intervene, but Aramis just kept on babbling.

“If you ask the everyone in the garrison they’ll tell you that we’re the most loyal group there, not only to His majesty, but also to each other, Your Eminence, there’s a reason for that, you know? Come on, think about it, when was the last time you’ve met a group of friends this tight-knit? It’s because we’re not only friends, but l-”

Athos walked up to the pavilion where Aramis was standing guard.

“Your Eminence,” he greeted Richelieu and then turned to Aramis. “Your shift has ended,” he said. “I’m taking the next one.”

Aramis turned to him, giving him a quick one-armed hug. “Thanks, my dear friend!” he beamed.

“Tonight at my place?” he asked Athos, who was taking Aramis’ guard position.

Athos nodded. “Are we inviting Porthos and d’Artagnan as well?”

“Of course, we had so much fun last time and our young friend proved himself to be more than capable of keeping up!”

Athos smiled, thinking of drunk D’Artagnan standing on the table and loudly singing a hymn to Gascony. Even Porthos was impressed. “I’ll see you in the evening, then,” he concluded.

“I have to leave as well,” spoke up the cardinal and hurried towards the exit of pavilion. “Until next time, gentlemen.”

Both musketeers echoed the goodbye and then Aramis left as well, happily strolling towards d’Artagnan’s silhouette. The cardinal watched him give a heartfelt hug to the younger man and then both of them leave together, shoulders touching and heads together, deep in conversation.

“Well,” muttered Richelieu, “That explains a lot.”

* * *

“So here’s the thing,” began Aramis.

They were all gathered at his place, sitting on his bed since he didn’t have enough chairs for everyone. There were two bottles of wine standing on the bedside stand. Aramis has sent his servant Bazin away for the time being, so they were alone.

Bazin's goal in life was to be a servant of an important church official and his loyalty to Aramis hinged on the musketeer's strange fascination with becoming a man of faith. They’ve let him near only on one of their drunken gatherings, but afterwards Aramis was subjected to so much passive-aggressive praying for his wicked soul that he just made up some excuse and sent him away whenever there was drinking at his place.

“Richelieu confronted me about the queen and her pregnancy,” said Aramis.

“Did my idea work?” immediately asked d’Artagnan.

“Yeah. Kind of.” Aramis awkwardly scratched his head. “Then the cardinal became suspicious of Athos and I- uh...”

“And you?” prompted Porthos.

“I kind of told him that all four of us are sodomites and that we’re together,” finished Aramis.

Porthos started giggling uncontrollably.

Athos took one of the wine bottles and started drinking from it.

* * *

“So basically, now he is convinced that we are together. Sexually. Romantically. All that.”

D’Artagnan looked at all of them. “My friends,” he said in low voice, “Do you know what this means?”

“What?” asked Porthos, who was the only one in the group that seemed to be amused by the situation.

“Now we have to _act_ like we’re actually together.”

Athos practically glowed at d’Artagnan.

“How perceptive of you, my dear companion!” he shouted.

Aramis groaned.

* * *

“Okay, what are the things that couples do?”

Porthos took a big swig of wine. “Shag,” he said.

“We’re _not_ going to shag in public.”

Aramis raised his hand. “Whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears,” he suggested.

“I’ll cut off your tongue if you try to do this to me, Aramis,” threatened Porthos.

Aramis visibly deflated with disappointment. “But I’m so good at it,” he said.

“It is common knowledge,” said Athos, waving an empty bottle around, “That young lover are each other’s downfall.”

“No.”

“That young lovers come together through blind infatuation,” Athos gestured widely and accidentally hit d’Artagnan’s head, “And then they fall apart because of lies, deception and general wickedness of human nature.”

“Athos,” said d’Artagnan slowly, “Do you know that your past fucked up relationships are not an indicator of how things usually go?”

“Bullshit,” said Athos and forgetting that the bottle is already empty, tried to take another swig.

“No more of that for you, sad boy,” said Porthos and took the bottle away from Athos, who shot him a wounded look.

D’Artagnan cleared his throat. “I think that the most vital part of what lovers do is the physical contact,” he said. “Whether it’s intimate or not, whether it’s just light touches, resting hand on other’s waist or kissing each other, the most important part is being close and touching.”

Aramis looked at everyone, piled on his bed to the point of squishing each other. “I think we’ve got this one down,” he said.

Athos sighed. “You’re so smart, d’Artagnan,” he said sadly and started running his fingers through d’Artagnan’s hair.

* * *

A few days later, when the four of them were training at the garrison, a message from commander Treville arrived, summoning d’Artagnan to his office. Athos, Porthos and Aramis jumped to join him, but the messenger stopped them. “Only Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he said.

Intrigued, d’Artagnan hurried to Treville’s office. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

He found the commander sitting behind his desk, smiling pleasantly at him.

“Sit down,” he said, “And please close the door.”

Confused, d’Artagnan did what he was told. Treville rummaged through his drawers.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered.

D’Artagnan nodded. Treville poured two glasses of golden liquid and lifted his in the air.

“To France,” he said, “And to companionship!”

They clinked the glasses together and took a sip. The liquid burned down d’Artagnan’s throat.

“So,” finally said Treville, “How are you doing? Is life treating you well?”

“Yes, uh, thank you for asking, Monsieur.”

“How about your friends? Are they treating you well?”

D’Artagnan almost choked on his drink.

“Yeah,” he coughed, “Of course!”

Treville leaned back in his seat. “That’s nice to hear,” he said. “Very nice.” He took another sip.

“You have to be careful, though,” he told d’Artagnan. “A fine young man like you can quickly attract trouble.”

D’Artagnan chuckled awkwardly. “I’ve noticed that already, yes.”

Treville waved his hand. “Not that kind of trouble!” he exclaimed. “A different kind of trouble.”

“All these older cats here,” he gestured towards the window that overlooked the training grounds, “They might think that they can take advantage of such a young, naive, handsome gentleman like you.”

D’Artagnan sputtered. “I swear that Athos, Porthos and Aramis would never do such a thing!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Treville nodded. “But just in case anything happens, I want you to know that you can always come to me.”

“Uhhh that’s very kind of you, Monsieur.”

Treville waved off his thanks and took another sip.

“You know, you four remind me of my old days in the army, how your father and I worked together, protecting the king,” he said. “There’s no bond as strong as the one between fellow soldiers, don’t you think?”

D’Artagnan nodded dumbly.

“But you,” he said loudly, “You’re still so young! Barely a man!”

D’Artagnan squirmed in his seat. “Monsieur, I’m over twenty years old,” he said.

Treville snapped out of his reminiscing.

“You’re _how_ old?”

“Twenty-four, Monsieur.”

Treville leaned back, resting a hand on his forehead. “Dear God!” he exclaimed. “But you look at least seven years younger than that!”

“Yeah,” said d’Artagnan awkwardly. “I’ve been told I don’t exactly look my age.”

“Then I have done your poor friends wrong! I feel so bad about doubting their good hearts earlier! I need to make it up, even if they don't know I've wronged them so!” Treville stood up from his chair distraught. He run his fingers through his sparse hair.

“Then it’s all good!” he cried. He took d’Artagnan’s hand. “Can you please tell your friends that you’re all invited to dine with me this Friday?”

“Of course, Monsieur.”

“Great, then!” Treville released d’Artagnan’s hand. “Thank you for your time and see you all on Friday!”

And just like that, d’Artagnan was dismissed.

* * *

He walked down the stairs to the courtyard, where his friends were eagerly waiting for him.

“What did Treville want?” asked Aramis.

D’Artagnan scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, first of all, we’re all invited to dinner at his, on Friday.”

Porthos whooped. “I knew he was a good man!” he shouted.

“Porthos, for the last time I’m telling you that people’s goodness is not measured in how many free meals and drinks they give you.”

“Shut up, Athos.”

“Gentlemen, let d’Artagnan speak!”

Three sets of eyes settled on the young man. “Okay,” he said lamely. “Basically Treville was concerned for me, because he thought you guys might take advantage of me because of how young and naive he thought I was.”

“You’re not that young,” said Porthos, wrinkling his forehead. “I mean you _are_ young, but you’re no baby.”

“Hold up for a moment,” interrupted Athos, “This means that the cardinal believed Aramis and that through him, Treville found out too.”

"The plan worked!” exclaimed Porthos and got immediately shushed by the rest of them. “Sorry,” he whispered, “But it really did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway please let me know what you think about this chapter/fic either in the comments or by sending me asks/dms on my tumblr @dropdeadjack


	3. drunk uncle at thanksgiving dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dinner at Treville's happens. people get handsy. athos doesn't like it (allegedly)

They decided to first meet up together and then go to Treville’s in a group. None of them was willing to arrive first and be alone to suffer the awkwardness of the commander acting like a supportive father, least of all d’Artagnan.

“So,” said Porthos, “Are we ready?”

They arrived to Treville's house, all decked out in their finest civilian clothing and with the musketeer insignia on their shoulders. Despite the lack of the need for hard leather, the felt like they'd be insulting their captain if they elected to leave it at home.

Athos took a deep breath. “Let’s go, friends,” he said and knocked on Treville’s door.

An elderly servant opened it. “Good evening, gentlemen, you must be Monsieur’s guests,” he said and invited them in. They were shown to the dining room, where Treville was waiting for them.

He was standing with his back turned towards the rest of the room, looking through the window. As the servant announced him, he swiftly turned around, a smile splitting his face.

“Good evening!” he greeted pleasantly, shaking everyone’s hands and giving them one-armed hugs. “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chairs, “The dinner will be ready anytime soon.”

The guests followed his invitation and everyone sat behind the table. There was a little bit of confusion to where each of them sat, as Porthos wanted to sit down next to Aramis, Athos wanted to be next to Porthos to stop him from saying anything stupid, d’Artagnan wanted to sit next to Athos and Aramis wanted to be as far away from Athos as he could.

Once the situation has been settled, Treville was sitting at the head of the table and on one side sat Atos and Porthos and on the other side sat Aramis and d’Artagnan.

Aramis was trying to look everywhere but in front of him, as that’s exactly where Athos was. Porthos was already sending him amused smiles across the table, while d’Artagnan just looked vaguely alarmed. Athos was as always courteous and completely expressionless.

Treville was talking about his youth and one of the wars he’s been in but no one was really listening.

The food finally arrived and all five of them dug into it.

“I want all of you to know,” said Treville once the plates have been emptied, “That in this house nobody will frown on any gestures of affection. You need not to be afraid or ashamed!”

Athos thanked Trevile on everyone’s behalf. Porthos was too busy sadly looking at the empty plates while d’Artagnan watched Aramis with a sense of foreboding. A devilish smile appeared on Aramis’ face.

“Oh thank you Monsieur!” he exclaimed. “That is so kind of you,” he added and brushed d'Artagnan's hair out of his eyes sensually.

Athos glared at him.

Treville poured everyone, especially himself more wine.

“You young gentleman really remind me of my early years in the service of king,” said Treville, a faraway look on his face. “When we were all so young and eager,” he continued, d’Artagnan shooting him a confused look, “And when Armand wasn’t such an asshole, if you pardon my language.”

Porthos snorted quietly and Treville obliviously sipped more wine. Athos' hand was resting on the table and Aramis reached over to squeeze it lovingly. Athos whipped his hand away, looking at Aramis who just smiled serenely at him.

“It’s okay, gentlemen, it’s okay,” assured them Treville, looking at Aramis' outstretched hand.

“I know how difficult it can be, hiding devotion all the time.” He sighed. “I am confident that your bond will withstand the test of time,” he said mournfully, “Unlike so many others.”

Porthos, who until now hasn’t really participated in the conversation remembered that it would have been rude to stay silent the whole dinner. “Thank you, Monsieur Treville!” he boomed. “I assure you, we are the most loyal of companions!”

Treville nodded approvingly. "I can tell, yes. I was wondering how did you decide to take young d'Artagnan into your midst?"

"Well, you remember how our first meeting went," said Porthos cheerfully. "We simply found ourselves charmed by such a courageous and honorable gentleman and we couldn't help but take him under our wing!"

"However, he has proven himself time and time again to be our equal in his abilities and heart both," added Aramis.

"And especially in wit, he outranks us all," said Athos, glaring at Aramis pointedly, before turning a much softer gaze upon d'Artagnan.

"Like friends grow closer with time, so did we," said Porthos, redirecting attention from d'Artagnan whose face was flushed dark from all the praise.

"Of course," said Treville. "Nothing is better grounds for love and companionship than mutual respect and admiration."

"That is true," d'Artagnan agreed. "And I have nothing but love and admiration for my companions." He felt something stir in his chest. "Together we give each other strength to get through the hardest of times."

Treville took another rather generous sip of his wine. "During war, as you probably already know, dear d'Artagnan, your father and I grew very close and kept regular correspondence for years. I was speaking from heart when I expressed my concern for you, for through your father's words I've gotten to know you since you were a wee babe."

Porthos badly suppressed a snicker. D'Artagnan's cheeks grew impossibly hot.

"And to not only meet you," said Treville, growing very misty-eyed, "But also see you flourish like this, well." He chuckled wetly. "It really makes me feel like a proud uncle."

D'Artagnan shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Father spoke about you a lot," he said. "I'm very happy to have met the man that I was hearing about throughout my entire childhood."

"This is so beautiful," said Porthos and loudly blew his nose.

"It truly is," Treville agreed.

"I suppose we should retire to our homes soon," interjected Athos. "The hour is getting quite late and we'd hate to keep you up longer than necessary."

"Oh, don't worry!" exclaimed Treville. "It is a welcome change, spending an evening in pleasant company for once!"

"I thought you get invited to dinners at the palace fairly often?" inquired Aramis.

"And so does Armand," answered Treville.

"Understood," said Athos as Porthos snickered.

"Nevertheless, we should bid you adieu," said Aramis.

The party gathered themselves and thanked Captain for the meal - very profusely on Porthos' part - and finally left.

* * *

"So, gentlemen," said Porthos. "I count this night as success!"

"No offense to you, Porthos, but your standards might be a tad bit low as compared to the others'." replied Athos.

"I think it went rather well," said Aramis. He slung his arm around Porthos' shoulders, winking at Athos.

Athos glowered.

"I don't like deceiving Treville," he grumbled. "And your farcial displays of affection are disgusting."

"Come on," said d'Artagnan and hooked his arm under Athos'. "There's nothing wrong with showing your comrades a little love."

Athos huffed indignantly but did not attempt to shake him off. With Aramis and Porthos holding onto each other too, the group made their way through the dark streets of Paris.

* * *

As they met up next morning for training, Treville gave them a sly wink from his door and then retreated back to nursing his hangover in the office.

They were sitting at their usual table eating breakfast and joking around, except for Athos who was pacing around and sighing now and then. After a particularly long-suffering one, Aramis finally turned towards him.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Athos shook his head. "I just." He sighed again. "I don't like lying about things like that."

"Still hung up on last night?" said d'Artagnan, raising his eyebrows.

Porthos groaned. "C'mere, you lug," he said dragging Athos on the bench, sandwiching him between himself and Aramis.

"Sit still, shut up and eat your breakfast," he grumbled. "Or else Aramis will force feed you."

"I am not a child," said Athos indignantly.

"I know," replied Aramis and handed him the breakfast. "That's why I am not hand-feeding you yet."

Athos stared at him.

"I hate both of you," he said and started eating.

"It's not that bad, isn't it?" asked d'Artagnan cheekily.

Athos glared at him and took a particularly aggressive bite.

Porthos chuckled and Athos couldn't help but relax a little bit.

* * *

Grimaud was putting away groceries in the kitchen when he placed a flask on the table where Athos was eating his dinner.

Athos sent him a questioning look.

 _"Got it for free,"_ Grimaud shrugged back.

 _"How? Why?"_ asked Athos' raised eyebrow.

 _"Probably has something to do with you and your friends,"_ gestured Grimaud. _"Merchant's smelling a lot of money in this."_

 _"Alright, thank you for telling me."_ Athos nodded back.

* * *

"Gentlemen," said Athos as he settled the offending flask of oil on the table. "We have to do something about this."

D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows. "What did this flask do to you?" he inquired.

Athos sat down hardly. "It's not just a flask," he explained. "It's a complimentary flask of oil from someone expecting to sell me a lot more oil in foreseeable future."

D'Artagnan blinked, confused.

"Oh no," said Porthos. He was covering his mouth with his hand, but the shaking shoulders were a telltale sign of an incoming laughing fit.

"Congratulations," d'Artagnan," said Athos. "Your plan really worked."

"A bit too well maybe," added Aramis.

"Not like you didn't have a hand in it spiralling out of control," Athos sniped back.

"Oh!" D'Artagnan slapped his forehead and flushed furiously.

Porthos started laughing in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some reason the first version of this had a convoluted kidnapping plot, starting at the end of this chapter and it was not until I've struggled too hard with the logic behind it that I remembered this was supposed to he a lighthearted funny fic and that there's absolutely no reason for me to do all that action and whump
> 
> bless my lazyness for making me stick to the crack cause seriously, what the fuck was that


	4. Truth or Dare?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes birthday parties of grown ass musketeers and high school sleepovers have a lot more in common than you would think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for delay, rl got a bit busier than expected and I didn't have much time to write but on the plus side i've got an idea for a massive fic about our boys
> 
> on another note, I found myself slipping more in Dumas' writing style of random character backstories for comedic effect so I hope y'all like that

"It's Gus' birthday, are you coming?" asked a musketeer. "We're celebrating at the _Crow's Foot_ later tonight!"

"Of course," said Porthos. "You know we always love a good party!"

* * *

In retrospect, he should have anticipated the scheming and gossipy bunch that were the King's Musketeers to come up with something absolutely ridiculous but as always the promise of good drinks and even better company clouded his judgement.

* * *

"Who wants to play Questions and Commands?"

"Questions and Commands?" asked Aramis. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Oh you know," said Gus, "You gather a company into a circle and then you spin a bottle. Then the pair does either a question or a command and then the bottle is spun."

"Oh, is this a new game?" asked d'Artagnan.

Gus nodded. "Got to play it when I was on a mission in-" he lowered his voice "Britain, and it was quite fun," he said. "Are you in?"

" I am!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.

Porthos nudged Athos. "Why don't you try it?" he asked.

Athos glared at him. "I have no desire to embarrass myself further. You should go, it sounds like your type of fun."

"Embarrassing myself?" asked Porthos with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly."

They looked at each other straight-faced for a moment before breaking into laughter.

* * *

The Questions and Commands group gathered around one of the bigger tables, counting seven people. Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan joined while Athos looked on, together with some others.

"The cap is the person asking and commanding," said Gus before he set the bottle down on the table and spun it.

The cap ended up pointing towards Porthos and the bottom was pointing at another musketeer, Dijon.

"A question or command?"

Dijon took a moment to think. "Command."

Porthos took a moment to think, eyes searching for inspiration around the inn.

"Alright," he said. "I command you to serenade Madam Bassett."

* * *

Madam Bassett was a middle-aged woman married to a tanner. Unfortunately, due to the necessities of her husband's profession she could never truly be rid of the stench of urine and dog excrement that was used to prepare animal hides.

Despite her less than appealing scent, most people agreed that her figure was extremely comely and her presence most pleasing. Many even talked about how she has made a mistake marrying a tanner - something that her husband did not take to lightly. He was fully aware of what an extraordinary catch his beloved wife was and guarded their marriage with a jealous love.

* * *

She was sitting at another table, chatting with a friend, while her husband was on the other side of the inn, greeting a friend.

Dijon drank the rest of his ale, slamming down the tankard and walked to Madam Bassett's table with a determined look in his eyes.

"Excuse me, Madam," he said as he arrived to the chatting duo. "Forgive me for disrupting your conversation but there is something I need to get off my chest."

Madam Bassett and her friend quieted in surprise.

Dijon got down on one knee, clearing his throat and started singing.

It was an old and familiar love song, describing the author's subject of affection in wonderful words, one that lovers would often like to sing and hear.

And Dijon sang it beautifully, his singing voice very much unlike the gruff tone he spoke in.

Someone cheered.

Monsieur Bassett finally caught up with what is going on, seeing a man serenading his beautiful wife. He stalked angrily towards Dijon, who took notice and hurried finishing the last verse bolting immediately afterwards.

Not fast enough to avoid a heavy, urine and dog poo flavoured punch, but the musketeers could appreciate the effort.

Aramis watched everything with an approving grin.

"Great job, Porthos," he said and high fived him.

* * *

"Question or command?"

It was now Aramis who got the bottom side of the bottle.

"Question."

A mischievous smile spread over Gus' face.

"Is it true that Richelieu walked on you and Athos making out in the royal palace?"

Porthos snorted, almost spitting his ale.

Aramis smiled angelically.

D'Artagnan coughed up his drink and sneaked a glance at Athos, who was standing at the side, looking like a statue. Down to the stony expression.

Although... d'Artagnan thought he could see a faintest pulsing of a vein at his temple.

"Now, I wouldn't say that we were _making out_ in that _exact_ moment..." said Aramis, his smile turning salacious. "So I have to say no."

The table exploded in chaos.

Questions rained upon Aramis, who just sat there quietly and basking in the mayhem he caused.

The vein in the Athos' temple was _very_ pronounced.

* * *

After it became apparent that none of the Inseparables would tell them what exactly Richelieu saw, the group calmed down and bottle was spun again. This time the bottom end was pointing towards d'Artagnan.

"Question or command?"

The whole crowd was mouthing at him to pick question.

"Command."

A collective groan sounded over the table.

"I command you to," the man scratched his chin in thought. "I command you to get Monsieur Florian into a brawl."

* * *

Most people are capable of losing their cool when provoked right. Whether it's a jab at their financial status, family members or just a simple implication of cowardice, every person has their own trigger.

Monsieur Florian seemingly had none. He was an artisan, making simple yet good quality pottery, living unmarried with his sister. Sometimes he'd go to a tavern and get some ale, drink it slowly, chat a little and then make his way back home. He was annoyingly at peace with everything.

People have tried to provoke him before, hurling the worst of insults towards his or his sister's person, his trade, marital status, extended family and personal wealth. Monsieur Florian would only sadly shake his head, sigh and leave.

Some have even tried to throw punches, but he'd dodge with uncanny speed and then leave.

Most people agreed that Monsieur Florian has picked the wrong profession, his patience befitting a saint more than a potter.

* * *

D'Artagnan straightened up and walked Monsieur Florian's table.

The whole musketeer party strained their necks to follow.

"Good evening, Monsieur," d'Artagnan pleasantly greeted. "Do you mind?" He gestured to the spare seat.

Florian shook his head. "Help yourself," he said pleasantly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Oh, I just thought you looked like you could use some company," answered d'Artagnan. "How are things? Is life treating you well?"

* * *

"He is... chatting him up?"

Gus looked at Porthos. "Why is he doing that?"

Porthos shrugged. "I don't know, he must have a plan."

"He better move quick with his plan," grumbled Gus. "Before this gets boring."

* * *

"So I've heard that you potters have very strong hands," said d'Artagnan.

"I suppose so," answered Florian. "Clay can be tougher to shape than people think."

D'Artagnan nodded. "And it must be quite a frustrating job at times, no? I know that sometimes things explode while baking and ruin the entire batch."

"It happens, yeah." Florian took another sip. "You know, when you came here I thought you were another one of these drunken idiots trying to instigate something."

D'Artagnan laughed fakely. "Me? Instigating things? No way!"

* * *

"Why are they just chatting? Is he going to chicken out?"

"He'd never do that!" objected Aramis. "He's got a plan and we're just too dumb to figure it out."

* * *

"So, I've got a confession to make."

Florian gave him an expectant look.

"I'm afraid I've been dared by my friends to provoke you, but after coming up to you, I've found that I have too much respect for your person to do anything like that. "

Florian looked at his face, eyebrows knotting in a mix of confusion and hurt.

"You came here to instigate things?" asked Florian.

"Unfortunately, but as I said-"

"You spent all this conversation looking for something to get to me?" Florian's voice had a hurt quality to it now, making d'Artagnan cringe at his callousness.

"No, I've change-"

Now the hurt was fully displayed on Florian's face and before d'Artagnan could finish his sentence, Florian decked him, lightning fast and dead-accurate.

* * *

D'Artagnan slumped over like a sack of potatoes.

* * *

The whole inn exploded in noise.

* * *

Athos ran to D'Artagnan's side, closely followed by Porthos and Aramis.

Florian has disappeared almost immediately after, leaving dizzy d'Artagnan on the floor. The musketeers have crowded their fallen comrade, making it hard for his friends to come to his side.

"Move, give the lad some air!" shouted Porthos and started pushing his colleagues back.

Aramis and Athos were kneeling at d'Artagnan's side, Aramis checking his state and Athos just being a looming, concerned presence.

Once the crowd has sufficiently backed off, Porthos joined his friends by d'Artagnan's side.

"How is it looking?" he asked.

"His brain seems to have been shaken a bit," answered Aramis. "I think he'll probably have to rest for a while to properly recover."

D'Artagnan groaned. "That fucking hurt," he grumbled. "Don't antagonize potters."

"Let's get you out of here," said Athos and slowly helped him up. Porthos held him up, supporting the brunt of the weight.

* * *

"Don't you think we went a bit too far?" one of the musketeers asked Gus who shrugged.

"It was funny," he replied. He poured himself more wine and clinked the glasses with Dijon.

"Cheers!"

And they got really, really wasted.

* * *

"I swear I'm fine," mumbled d'Artagnan. He tried to shrug off Athos and Porthos and immediately stumbled.

"Are you sure about that?" asked Aramis.

"Yeah but keep holding me," answered d'Artagnan. "For reasons unrelated to my balance."

"Of course," said Porthos, amusement in his voice.

Athos unsubtly held d'Artagnan closer.

* * *

"This is not my place," said d'Artagnan.

"I know," answered Aramis. "It's mine."

"Why?" whined d'Artagnan.

"So I can watch you closer," said Aramis and opened the door.

They got inside, piling on Aramis' bed and taking off their boots and leathers.

"Is this a sleepover now?" d'Artagnan grumbled.

"Yes," answered Porthos and blew out the candle, leaving them piled together in the dark.

* * *

Aramis was the first to wake.

He was half buried underneath Porthos and his legs were tangled together with at least one more person. To his left he could see d'Artagnan sleeping peacefully, Athos slinging a protective arm over his chest.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

"Monsieur Aramis?"

Bazin quietly opened the doors and peeked through.

Seeing the musketeer pile, he closed the door immediately.

Aramis sighed. He mentally prepared himself for the passive aggressive praying he'll undoubtedly find himself on the end of and tried to untangle himself from the pile.

Then he changed his mind.

_Eh._

They've had a day off anyway.

* * *

"Porthos."

No response.

"Porthos!"

"Get off me, you lug, I need to piss!"

Porthos sleepily grumbled and rolled off, landing on the floor with a loud _thud._

He groaned.

Aramis disentangled the rest of his limbs and sat up on the bed, looking down at Porthos who was still lying face down.

He poked him with a leg.

"You alright?"

Porthos lazily rolled over to look up at him.

"No, I wanna sleep," he mumbled, squinting at his friend.

"Wait," he said, eyes opening up a bit more. He focused on the still sleeping, _snuggling_ Athos and d'Artagnan. "What are we doing in your bed."

He squinted back at Aramis.

"We didn't fuck, did we?"


	5. Anti-Richelieu Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bazin is doing a catholic granny on public transport when seeing a goth routine and aramis casts a spell what happens next won't shock you at all cause all fic tropes are the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all the people on tumblr who expressed interest in an archeology au, I'm still doing research so in the meantime have some garbage

"We didn't fuck, did we?"

* * *

"No!" loudly whispered Aramis.

Porthos deflated a bit.

"Oh right," he mumbled. "Now I remember."

Aramis nodded furiously. "We've got a patient here!"

Porthos rolled his eyes and climbed back on the bed.

"Whatever you say," he said and joined the totally not cuddling Athos and d'Artagnan.

* * *

Leaning on the kitchen wall Aramis glared at audibly praying Bazin.

"It's not what you think, you know," he said.

Bazin kept praying for his lustful soul with renewed vigor.

Aramis sighed and cut up a loaf of bread and some cheese, piling it all on his biggest plate, taking everything to the bedroom.

* * *

Porthos rose up immediately after sensing the presence of food, but Athos and d'Artagnan were still sleeping soundly.

After some consideration, Aramis decided to carefully shake Athos. He has just gripped d'Artagnan harder. Aramis shook him harder. Athos shrugged him off and held onto d'Artagnan.

Porthos watched the whole exchange with sleepy amusement.

"Athos!" he shouted.

Athos jumped up, eyes wide. D'Artagnan groaned.

"Good morning," said Porthos. "Have some breakfast before I eat everything."

Athos was still staring around wide-eyed.

"What happened?" he asked breathlessly.

"We've had a sleepover," Aramis answered and patted him on the shoulder. "Everything's good, but d'Artagnan has a concussion."

Athos looked down to the slowly stirring d'Artagnan in his arms.

"Oh," he said dumbly.

"My fucking head," d'Artagnan groaned. He slowly sat up. Athos automatically helped him.

"I feel sick," announced d'Artagnan and promptly puked all over himself and Athos.

* * *

It was concluded that d'Artagnan shouldn't go home just yet as daylight would give him horrible headaches and nausea. Athos hovered around him, badly concealing his concern. Aramis ended up sending him to d'Artagnan's place to retrieve some clothes just to give him something to do.

Porthos was getting restless so he was sent to give word of d'Artagnan's state to Treville's and Aramis finally had peace and space to examine d'Artagnan.

Bazin was tasked with washing the puked clothes and Aramis could hear his passive-aggressive praying from the other room.

* * *

"I'm not made of glass," complained d'Artagnan as Aramis checked his bruising for any signs of hidden injuries.

"Of course you aren't." replied Aramis and made him perform a few quick calculations. D'Artagnan struggled a bit, but got the correct answers in a satisfactory time.

"I could go back tomorrow," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis walked to the window. "Are you sure?" he asked and opened the blinds.

D'Artagnan groaned in pain and covered his eyes.

"Shut up," he said, slightly muffled by the hands.

* * *

Athos has returned with Madam Bonacieux strutting purposefully, making him carry a whole basket worth of clothes.

"What were you doing?" she asked the moment she saw him sitting on Aramis' bed.

He groaned at her loud voice.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "What were you doing?"

"Classified information," he replied.

"He was challenged to get into a brawl with a potter," said Porthos.

"Constance..." d'Artagnan said, but she cut him off with a disapproving head shake.

"You should have known better than to antagonise Monsieur Florian!" she scolded him.

"Wait how do-" Porthos tried to ask her.

"He's a very gentle soul so you must have hurt him quite badly! I don't want to even think about what you must have done for him to react like this!"

D'Artagnan cringed under her admonishing. "I'm sorry," he said.

Constance pointed a commanding finger towards him.

"You better apologise to him the moment you can!" she commanded and then turned towards Aramis.

"How long will he be here?" she asked.

"At least for one more day, though I'd prefer to keep him around for three more," he answered. "He should be okay to move around tomorrow, but he'll have to get back into physical activity gradually."

Constance glanced at d'Artagnan.

"Yeah, he'll need to be watched all time if we want this to be done properly."

"Hey!" protested d'Artagnan and then cringed at the volume of own voice.

"We don't want to burden you with this responsibility on top of everything else you have to do," said Athos diplomatically.

Porthos raised a very questioning eyebrow at him but got ignored.

* * *

"One more thing," Constance said quietly.

Aramis has accompanied her to the exit of the building.

"I've been asked some curious questions by the gossips at the market," she said.

Aramis smiled nervously.

"Why do people think the four of you are sleeping together?"

He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Classified information," he said.

* * *

Treville was kind enough to let them rearrange their schedule in a way that allowed at least one to always watch over increasingly cranky d'Artagnan. He was allowed some exercise at this point, but it was light and with minimal risk of aggravating his injury.

It was Porthos' turn to deal with the bad-tempered Gascon.

"Come on," he said. "If you manage to be fine tomorrow morning we can go to some non contact exercises."

He was making him do basic running drills around the apartment block. D'Artagnan was not very thrilled about it.

"I'm fine," he protested. "And I don't see why can't I do this at home."

He sighed, looking up at the window of Aramis' dining room. Bazin was standing there, glaring at them and praying.

"And why is he always aggressively praying at us?"

* * *

They were on duty at the royal palace, but since they were there together, Athos thought he could stop Aramis from any further bad decisions regarding the queen.

Unfortunately, Athos was wrong.

* * *

"Cover for me," whispered Aramis and before Athos could protest, he has already disappeared into one of the many chambers.

Athos sighed and stood in front of the doors, praying that no one will come around.

* * *

By the time Aramis slipped out of the mysterious room there were no interruptions and Athos thought that God has finally smiled upon him.

"We can go now," said Aramis nonchalantly as he fixed up his mussed up hair and crumpled collar.

Athos sighed, feeling something bubble up inside.

"You idiot!" he whispered. "Didn't you have enough of your foolishness?"

"It's fine, Athos, I swear!" Aramis whispered back. "It's safe, look, _you_ made sure it was extra safe!"

Athos grabbed him by the collar.

"Listen," he started, but Aramis' eyes darted to the end of the corridor and he leaned in and kissed him, filthily, blatantly and outrageously on the mouth.

Athos' brain ceased to work as Aramis did his best to maul his face in the hottest way possible.

A disgusted noise and loud footsteps tore him from confusion and he pushed Aramis off to catch the sight of rapidly retreating Richelieu.

He glared at Aramis who moaned for emphasis, causing the footsteps to break into a run.

Athos glared at him harder.

Maybe God really did hate him.

* * *

And if that experience made him feel a certain way, well, he was sure to take that secret to his grave. Aside from all other reasong he really did not want to give Aramis any sort of credit in the romantic and sexual department especially since that was exactly what landed them in this situation.

* * *

"Athos," Porthos said carefully. "Why does Richelieu always run away from us these days?"

Athos sighed. He has tried to erase the _incident_ from his memory but the newfound tendency for all of them to fall asleep at Aramis' place has made it especially hard.

_Hard. Ha ha._

Athos shook his head, willing away the voice which sounded painfully like his (too) young and juvenile dead brother.

"Ask Aramis," he finally replied.

* * *

"Athos!"

"Yes?"

* * *

He was barely out of the door, last of the four to come to their now usual evening meetup at Aramis'. Bazin was taking his hat and closing the door behind him.

"Did Aramis really make out with you in front of Richelieu?"

Bazin dropped the hat.

* * *

"That's not fair!" exclaimed Porthos. "Aramis, why don't you make out with _me_ in front of Richelieu?"

"From what I've heard he runs away too fast at the sight of you three now," said d'Artagnan. He was doing fairly well, expected to make a full recovery in a week.

Athos wished a part of the ceiling would have broken off, hitting him on the head and at least rendering him unconscious or just killing him in an instant. He would rather have listened to Treville explain his military manoeuvres for ten hours straight than witness this conversation.

"Bazin, be a good man and get us some wine!"

For once, Bazin did not fall into the usual routine of airing his disappointments via prayer, instead obeying his employer with mechanical moves and eyes so empty one might think his soul has had enough of nonsense and left the body altogether.

After the bottle was brought, d'Artagnan reached eagerly, but got slapped away by Aramis.

"No alcohol until you've made full recovery _at least,"_ he sternly said.

* * *

Once an entirely inappropriate amount of alcohol was consumed, d'Artagnan leaned back, pouting.

"I wanna make out with you guys in front of Richelieu too," he said sadly. Instead of wine he's had a cup of herbal tea whose main saving grace was a dollop of honey.

Porthos nodded in agreement.

"I thought we were drinking to forget," said Athos. "Not to continue."

Aramis shrugged. "Nothing is truly forgotten in love and lust," he said.

"What the fuck," said Porthos.

Aramis shrugged again. "Was trying to sound smart like Athos."

"You sound dumb and not at all like me," replied Athos.

"If you keep insulting me I'll never make out with you again," said Aramis.

"Oh no, what a tragedy," Athos said, voice betraying absolutely zero feeling of regret or any other emotion and took another swig.

* * *

"Aramis, come here!"

Aramis got up from his seat and sat himself on Porthos' lap.

"I need you to show me the anti-Richelieu spell," Porthos said, grinning. Aramis laughed back and obliged.

They made out sloppily.

D'Artagnan was laughing at the whole debacle. Athos was redder than tomato and not inclined to any mirth at all. Bazin has long been missing.

Aramis and Porthos have finally pulled apart, breathless.

"I think I now understand why all the ladies like him," said Porthos after a beat.

"Mind showing me the spell too?" asked d'Artagnan, a wide smile on his face.

Aramis leaned and planted a hot, open mouthed kiss on d'Artagnan.

Athos felt his face grow even more vivid red and something finally break in his brain.

* * *

Porthos was eyeing him over the table.

"You look like you need some air," he said and got up. He grabbed his shoulder, leading him outside. Athos knew him too well to resist.

* * *

"So."

They were standing outside now, deep shadow of the arch shielding them from any onlookers that might pass them at the late hour.

Porthos was leaning on the wall, intently watching Athos who was just taking in fresh air.

"You seem troubled."

Athos sighed. "Please don't make me talk about it."

Porthos nodded.

"I won't try."

He hesitated for a few moments before unpeeling himself from the wall. He took Athos' hand into his own.

"We're Inseparables," he said quietly."You don't have to say anything for us to see something's going on in your head." He looked up from the hand into Athos' eyes. "Don't be afraid of being judged," he said before letting ho of Athos' hand and going back upstairs.

Athos slumped against the wall.

* * *

Athos returned upstairs to Aramis' after a very long while. In the meantime the party has migrated to the bedroom, the three of them now lounging on the now communal bed.

Athos joined them without a word. Porthos slung an arm around him, drawing him close.

On the other side of the bed d'Artagnan was just passionately explaining something to Aramis.

"And I think it's so unfair, that people can't marry out of love," he said sadly.

Aramis nodded. "It's so sad," he added needlessly.

D'Artagnan leaned on Aramis' shoulder and yawned.

"We should sleep," said Aramis. He started gently shooing everyone to put down his clothes.

"No shoes to bed, we're not bandits," he told Porthos who just smiled guiltily.

Athos watched the scene unfold with a sense of serenity. Aramis caught his eye and smiled, an edge of drunken unabashedness making it feel more serene.

In the end they stumbled together into the bed that was definitely too small for four grown men, but it felt just right.


	6. You've fucked up a perfectly good servant, look, he's got alcoholism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things get shared and they deal with said things in an excessively musketeer fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the last chapter! I can't believe it's already over, this was legit one of the most fun fics I've ever written. In the meantime I'll get to researching for previously mentioned archeology au and try to take care of my other fandoms. 
> 
> I've finished this like well over midnight so there might be some typos even though I've checked. If any slipped my notice I apologise, I don't have a beta reader.

After that night they elected not to talk more about the Anti-Richelieu Spell, as they've ended up naming it. D'Artagnan managed to make a steady recovery and was all but ready to go back on their regular missions.

It was supposed to be his last night at Aramis' and they've decided to take that as an excuse for another night of revelry.

D'Artagnan missed his home, missed Madam Bonacieux and missed having his own place. He ignored the little pang in his heart that flared up every time he remembered that going back home would also mean no more group sleepovers.

* * *

Aramis did not think about how he made d'Artagnan camp at his place for way longer than necessary and he most certainly did not think about how absolutely no one complained about it and the one thing that he did not think at all was the _Anti-Richelieu Spell._

He's never been aggressively prayed at this much in his entire life.

* * *

"I can't believe you're going home already!" exclaimed Porthos. "We're going to miss crashing on Aramis' bed." He drew d'Artagnan into a bear hug and tugged Aramis in too.

"And here I thought that the drinking was supposed to start after we all arrive," commented Athos, leaning in the doorway.

"Why do you assume I must be drunk to hug my friends?" asked Porthos in a wounded voice after he let go.

"Everyone is so attached to my bed without sparing a thought for me," complained Aramis. "What if I wanted to sleep in my bed alone and not buried under at least two grown men at all times?"

"You enjoy the attention, don't lie," replied d'Artagnan.

"Yeah but just in case," said Aramis. "If hypothetically I didn't?"

"What if swords were made of bread?" said Athos.

"I think they're called baguettes," answered Porthos.

* * *

"We still don't know what to do about all these rumours."

"They did accomplish what we wanted, though."

Athos sighed.

"You all know how much I don't like lying about this," he said.

Porthos nodded. "You've told us approximately hundred times, yes."

"Everyone is talking about it," said Aramis. "It even reached the queen."

"Richelieu, probably," grumbled Athos. "Thanks to you."

D'Artagnan and Porthos straightened up. This was the first time that the incident has been mentioned since that night.

"It saved our asses from Richelieu," snapped Aramis.

"We wouldn't have needed saving if you learned to keep away from the queen."

"Is that really all that is bothering you?"

Athos sighed.

The fight seemed to have been drained out of Aramis.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes soft. "I know that your history has soured these things for you."

Athos reached towards the wine bottle but changed his mind. He cleared his throat.

"The truth is not quite like that," he said, a lump in his throat making him sound all gravelly. "There is something that I should get off my chest. And after I'm done I assure you I won't trouble you anymore and if you wish me gone I won't try to impose myself on you."

All three his friends looked him with various degrees of concern and curiosity. He took a deep breath.

"The truth is that-" He swallowed. "The truth is that I would like for us to be together the way people think we are."

He took another breath. "I don't want to _pretend_ when my feelings are real."

He briskly got up and started walking towards the exit.

"Wait!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.

Porthos jumped out of his seat and grabbed Athos' shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Athos opened his mouth to say something as d'Artagnan raised his hand.

"Before this gets even more awkward," he said. "Can I say that I, uh." He swallowed awkwardly. "I feel the same?"

Athos whipped around, previous mask of resignation replaced by pure surprise.

"Okay then," sighed Aramis. "I've also been wishing for us to be more than friends."

"Hold up," said Porthos. "You're into men?!"

"Apparently," shrugged Aramis. D'Artagnan nodded.

"I kept quiet cause I thought all of you like women only!" Porthos groaned. "Yeah, I want to be with you guys too, been wanting that for a while already!"

Everyone looked at each other in confusion.

"What the fuck?" whispered Athos, voice slightly wet.

Porthos shrugged.

Athos sat back down.

"Can someone explain me what is going on?" he asked.

"Yeah, what's up with the queen and Constance?" asked Porthos.

"Didn't you want to marry a widow that one time?" Aramis asked.

"Does this mean you don't hate love anymore?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Before we get into the details," said Athos. "Can we all confirm that we're all sexually and romantically interested in each other?"

Everyone nodded.

Athos let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

"So you like the queen too."

Aramis shrugged. "I suppose?" he said. "It's kind of." He awkwardly scratched his head. "She's sweet and I like her and I feel responsible for the child, but..."

He sighed. "She isn't you," he finally said.

"Aw," said Porthos and smothered Aramis in a loving hug.

"What about Constance?" asked Athos.

"She's married," said d'Artagnan.

"Not like that's that much of a problem," added Aramis, voice muffled by Porthos' hug.

All three looked sceptically at him.

"What?" he asked.

Athos shook his head.

"Anyway," d'Artagnan said, "Constance and I decided it's better for both of us to call our relationship off for other reasons too."

"It must be hard for her to be with a soldier, right?" asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan nodded.

"Alice had the same problem," sighed Porthos.

"One more question," said Aramis.

"What about Milady?"

"Please tell me you've never had feelings for Athos' wife," said Porthos.

"Disgusting," agreed Aramis.

"Of course I didn't!" sputtered d'Artagnan.

"I've had," Athos said bitterly.

"Our condolences," said Porthos.

Athos glared at them.

* * *

They sat in silence for a while.

"Can we kiss now or what?" asked Porthos.

"I sure hope so," replied Aramis.

"This is awkward," said d'Artagnan.

"Thanks for this astute observation," said Athos dryly.

They exchanged looks, no one wanting to make the first move.

"I've got an idea."

Everyone looked at d'Artagnan.

"We duel," he said and then waited a bit for emphasis. "For the right of first kiss!"

Athos looked at him approvingly. "Sounds like a solid plan," he said.

Aramis massaged his temples. "Why are we making this into a _thing,_ why can't we just kiss like normal people do, for the love of God..."

Porthos patted his shoulder. "Come on, it's going to be fun!"

Aramis groaned as the other three started tossing a coin for duelling pairs.

* * *

"Why do we have to do this in my kitchen," Aramis complained.

He was leaning in the doorway as Porthos and Athos rearranged the furniture to get sufficient space.

They ignored him.

D'Artagnan appeared next to him and leaned to the other side of the doorway. "I personally think it's a great idea," he said.

Aramis glared at him. "Of course you do." He sighed. "I don't know why we have to make things unnecessarily complicated, there's absolutely no reason why we have to duel for it!"

He turned towards d'Artagnan, geting deep into his personal space. He gently cupped his cheek.

"I could kiss you right now," he murmured, leaning in so that they were barely centimetres apart. "There's nothing stopping us," he breathed.

"No cheating!"

Porthos yanked Aramis back.

"Fuck!"

Aramis angrily turned towards Porthos, jabbing an angry finger into his chest. "I can't believe you-"

"Aramis, catch!"

Athos tossed him his rapier and drew his, assuming a starting position.

"En garde!"

* * *

Aramis looked at his friend exasperatedly and finally drew his sword.

"If you damage my kitchen I will kill you in your sleep," he said and lunged into an attack.

Athos parried effortlessly and disarmed him with startling speed.

The tip of his sword lightly touched the exposed skin of Aramis' throat.

"Not gonna lie," said Aramis. "This is actually pretty arousing."

* * *

D'Artagnan and Porthos drew their swords.

"I can't promise to go easy on you," said Porthos with a teasing smile. "If you want to return to work you have to be able to handle me."

D'Artagnan scoffed.

* * *

It was a slightly longer round, Porthos for once not playing completely dirty, but soon the tip of d'Artagnan's blade pressed against his throat.

He smiled. "Maybe I did go a little bit easy on you."

D'Artagnan smiled in response and put away his sword.

Aramis raised his hand. "Can you two finally-"

He got cut off by Athos walking up to d'Artagnan and kissing him passionately.

Aramis lowered his hand.

Porthos nodded approvingly and put away his sword. He sauntered towards Aramis.

"You were saying?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

He looked absolutely infuriating.

Aramis kissed him hard on the mouth.

* * *

Next morning Bazin found the wine barely touched on the table and his master and friends sleeping peacefully.

He sighed and snatched the forgotten bottle for himself.

* * *

The musketeer pile started slowly stirring. They've untangled themselves reluctantly, knowing that they're expected at the garrison. They ate their breakfast and sleepily put on their gear.

As he was putting on his pauldron Porthos stopped, deep in thought.

"Athos."

"What."

"Do you still have that complimentary oil?"

Somewhere in the background Bazin took a hearty swig.

"Look at this, you've all broken my servant!"

Porthos chuckled. "Don't act all innocent, you started it."

Athos smiled. "Bazin, I should introduce you to my servant, Grimaud," he said. "I'm sure you two would get along well."

"Get along well?" d'Artagnan asked. "Isn't he mute?"

* * *

They've found themselves at _Crow's Foot_ again, gathered around a private table with pints of ale in front of them.

"I don't know whether to thank Gus or challenge his to a duel," said d'Artagnan.

"Don't fuel the rumour mill further, please," Athos said. "Last time I've overheard the men telling Serge that we had sex on the cardinal's desk."

"As fun as it would've been to piss him off," Porthos said slowly.

"Richelieu is just about the last thing I want to think about while having sex," d'Artagnan finished.

Athos nodded in agreement.

* * *

"Athos," Aramis said. "Is that by any chance Grimaud who is sitting with Bazin in the corner?"

They've all strained their necks trying to spot the men.

"They're talking," d'Artagnan said in wonder. "Grimaud is talking."

"And now Bazin is crying into his shoulder," Porthos added.

"You broke my servant," said Aramis. "You broke my perfectly good servant."

"No, we didn't," replied Porthos. "Look, Grimaud kissed his head!"

"It would seem Bazin has found a new purpose in love," concluded Athos, smiling.

The rest of them looked at him.

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend?" Porthos asked.

* * *

Richelieu continued to make sure he avoided the group at any cost, but there were opportunities when he had to suffer their presence.

The king was dealing with some church related matters which finally made him storm into Richelieu's office.

Richelieu concealed the little jump that the sudden intrusion caused and respectfully got up.

"Your Majesty?"

His eyes took in the king's entourage, including all four Inseparables. A shadow of despair passed over his face.

* * *

Aramis looked at Porthos, raising his eyebrow.

Athos looked at him with a mixture of anger and fear, shaking his head firmly.

* * *

"I can't believe we're doing this," said Athos as he was dribbling oil onto d'Artagnan's fingers.

"Neither do I," d'Artagnan replied, hand reaching for Athos' bare behind.

Porthos was busying himself with helping Aramis who was already sitting on Richelieu's desk, an absolutely devilish smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, there is also an epilogue.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can have a little Treville. as a treat

They got summoned to Treville's office. The Captain was standing at his desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hands.

"I was approached by Cardinal Richelieu earlier today," he said. "He seemed very troubled."

He turned around and put down his drink.

"While I would find his concerns quite troubling were it anyone other than him I would like to know the truth. For reasons unrelated to my personal amusement."

He leaned on his desk. "I assure you that no matter the answer there won't be any negative consequences."

The four of them exchanged curious and uneasy glances.

"Did you four really fuck on his desk?"

**Author's Note:**

> anyway you can talk to me about this fic on my tumblr @dropdeadjack


End file.
